


Soulmates

by Rantaboutbees



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Blood, M/M, Soulmate AU, Soulmates, also wtf happened in Cape Town, other tags apply but I don't want to spoil it I'm sorry, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 08:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8136988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rantaboutbees/pseuds/Rantaboutbees
Summary: Ryan and Brendon weren’t soulmates.
If they were, things would have worked out.
Yet here Ryan was, alone in a hotel room, stuck feeling the heartbeat of someone who didn’t love him anymore.
The rings were a mistake. They had to be. Something messed up, somehow. Because Ryan and Brendon weren’t soulmates.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Soulmate AU where you are born with a ring that lets you feel your soulmate's heartbeat at all times. When you meet, your rings heat up.
> 
> Okay so some other tags apply, but I don't want to spoil it. Sorry if you don't like surprises.
> 
> Possible trigger warning.

They’re not soulmates.

 

There’s no way someone could say that to their soulmate. No way.

 

This went so far beyond the petty arguments and lovers’ spats they would always have. This was so much more than some big fight that they would need days to recover from.

 

It was over.

 

Soulmates were never _over_. That was the whole point of soulmates. You find this person whose heartbeat you’ve been feeling your entire life, you feel the warmth in your soul ring, you make eye contact, you fall in love, and you spend the rest of your life together. That’s how it goes. That’s how it always goes, every single time.

 

So Ryan and Brendon weren’t soulmates, because that’s not how it went.

 

A loud bang jerked Ryan out of his flurry of thoughts, if only for a moment. He looked down at his hands, both clenched so tight on the hotel room desk that his knuckles were turning white. His left fist throbbed, and he realized with mild surprise that he had pounded it against the wood while he was trying to make sense of the situation. He slowly relaxed, lifting his hand and turning it over before his face.

 

The black ring wrapped around his finger glared angrily at him. It pulsed steadily against his skin, making it impossible for him to get Brendon out of his mind.

 

That was Brendon’s heartbeat.

 

That meant Brendon was supposed to be his soulmate.

 

Ryan had felt Brendon’s heartbeat through this ring since the day he was born, just as Brendon had felt his.

 

He remembered all the times he had just sat in his room as a boy, staring at his ring and feeling the pulse. He would dedicate hours to fantasizing about who it was, what they looked like, acted like, sounded like. He imagined the day they finally met, when their rings would heat and they would look up and meet eyes from across the room or on the other side of the street or in the theatre where they were both watching the movie that would become _their_ movie. They would stare at each other and they would be exactly what the other dreamed of and they would run to each other and share a passionate kiss and hold each other in their arms and never, never let go.

 

Ryan felt hot tears welling up in his eyes as he stared at this broken, mistaken ring. He blinked and they fell down his face heavily.

 

All those days when he felt useless, that he couldn’t go on any longer. When the world was collapsing in on him and he couldn’t see or breathe or hear anything.

 

He would feel the heartbeat.

 

Sometimes the heartbeat would speed up too, as Ryan’s panic increased. He would feel better, knowing someone knew that he wasn’t okay. Someone out there knew, and someone out there cared. He would focus on the quick beat and think about this mystery person until he could calm down, and the heartbeat slowed along with his.

 

Sometimes the heartbeat was deliberately slow, which made Ryan feel better even more quickly. This person was actually trying to calm him down. Their beat had increased in pressure, but stayed steady. They cared so much that they were putting in actual effort to try and help him. This kind of compassion was overwhelming at first to young Ryan, but over the years he learned to love and appreciate it.

 

Ryan blinked again, face contorting in agony as more memories flooded back to him. He dug his thumb under the ring, pulling at it weakly.

 

“He doesn’t love me anymore,” He whimpered, feeling more tears streak down his face. He tugged the ring irritably. “He doesn’t love me!” Ryan tried to shove more fingers between the ring and his skin, yanking it furiously. He jumped up and slammed his fist against the desk, right on the ring. “GOD DAMN IT HE DOESN’T LOVE ME!” He shrieked, loud sobs escaping his chest. He pounded his hand over and over again on the surface, flinching every time at each bang, until his arms were exhausted and the wood was covered in deep gashes. The ring, however, remained unscathed. He collapsed on the floor beside the bed and put his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably. He could barely breathe. The world was collapsing in on him. He could feel his own heartbeat pulsing through him as his chest constricted and his panic rose. Out of habit, he looked to the ring for comfort.

 

Something was different.

 

Brendon’s heartbeat wasn’t fast or powerful. It was perfectly calm. Ryan knew Brendon could feel him, Brendon had to know that Ryan was absolutely not okay.

 

But Brendon seemed okay. He hardly even seemed to care.

 

As Ryan stared at his finger through tear-filled, blurry eyes with bewilderment, more images flashed through his head.

 

The day they finally met.

 

When Brendon walked through that door, trailing Brent, he was wearing the dorkiest haircut and a shy smile. He had smiled at Spencer, then, just before spotting Ryan, he had paused and looked down at his ring. Brendon had glanced back up at Spencer curiously, face reddening, and was met with a blank stare. Then he had turned to Ryan, who was standing in the corner, shell shocked, heart pounding. Ryan had felt his heated ring’s heartbeat speeding up too, and for what felt like days they had just stood there, staring at each other, and blushing like mad.

 

Everything after that was a blur. Ryan couldn’t even remember their first kiss. He had just slid so comfortably into Brendon’s life, and Brendon into his. It was like there was no time before Brendon. He had simply always been there. And in a way, this was true. Brendon’s heartbeat had always been there. It was familiar, it was comforting, it was right.

 

But now Brendon wasn’t here. He was off somewhere else with god knows who, with a heartbeat that felt strangely detached. Brendon was already gone in more ways than one.

 

Ryan felt resentment flood through him. Brendon didn’t care. Why should he? They weren’t fucking soulmates.

 

Ryan wanted this ring off him as soon as possible. He didn’t care if he had to cut off his finger to do it. He put his hand back on the damaged desk, fingers spread. He brought his right fist down on it, knuckles first, with new, anger fueled force. He let out a cry as pain jolted through his arm, then bracing his teeth, hit it again. After a few more agonizing tries, he slumped back onto the end of the bed and looked around wearily. His eyes rested on a plate on top of the bedside table. On the plate was a metal fork. Ryan reached over with his right hand, groaning in exhaustion, and wrapped his fingers around the utensil. He clasped it tightly in his palm and forced a prong under his ring on the opposite hand. He pushed further, tilting it side to side to go deeper and deeper. He pressed the bottom of his palm against the fork’s end, shoving it forward until the end of the prong poked out the other side of the ring. Then he pushed the fork up, tilting it to try and wedge the ring out of its spot. He pressed until spots of deep red blood began to seep out from underneath the fork, then growled in frustration and yanked the utensil back out. He hurled the fork across the room, flinching as it hit the window with a loud crash. He fell back onto the bed, staring furiously up at the ceiling through tears of defeat. His heartbeat was wild, pulsing heavily and unsteadily throughout his body. Once again he lifted his hand to stare at his ring, now hating the sight of it. It was slick with blood, blood that coated his finger and continued to spread towards his hand. Ryan was irate, and in a final effort, he stuck a bottom tooth underneath the cursed object, biting down on its surface and yanking haphazardly. He pulled his wrist, his jaw, his finger, anything that could stop him from feeling this heartbeat that wasn’t his. The metallic taste of his own blood filled his mouth until he was forced to stop, and he slammed his hand onto the grainy white bedsheet and spat a deep red glob onto the yellowing carpet floor. His body was shaking with rage, but he was too spent to do anything anymore. Instead he just rubbed his face with both hands, feeling the warmth of his blood coat one cheek, and lay back down on the bed.

 

It took him a few minutes to calm himself to the point where he couldn’t feel his own pulse throbbing through him.

 

It took him a few more minutes to realize that he couldn’t feel any other pulse.

 

Exhaustion forgotten, Ryan jerked up from the bed to stare frantically at his ring, ignoring the now caked blood covering most of his finger. His hands were shaking as he lifted his right hand to touch the ring tentatively with his fingertips. There was nothing. No warmth, no movement, no pulse. Relief flashed by in a split second, but was hastily replaced by renewed panic. Horrifying and gruesome images flashed through Ryan’s head, glaring at him with every thought.

 

He imagined Brendon in a bar, beer bottles surrounding him, passed out in a stupor he’ll never wake up from. He imagined him in a dark alley, knife in his stomach from a thief who had taken it too far. Skull crushed from a vicious car accident on the side of the road. His body floating down a river. Dead on a bathroom floor in a pool of his own blood.

 

Ryan keeled over, digging his knuckles into his eyelids.

 

Brendon was dead.

 

Dead dead dead.

 

His heartbeat had stopped.

 

Ryan couldn’t even get the sobs out. His throat was tightening, his stomach was churning, his ring was a lifeless thing on his finger, as lifeless as the man who was supposed to be his soulmate, the man he was supposed to love forever. The man he loved. The man who was dead.

 

The thing that he had felt his entire life, the only constant part of a world that was always changing too fast, was gone. It was gone and it was never coming back and Ryan was a selfish asshole for ever wanting it to go away. Now it had gone away and he wanted nothing more than to get it back.

 

Ryan clasped a hand to his chest and leaned back, sucking in loud, gasping breaths. He rocked back and forth with every inhale and exhale, until he could finally regulate his breathing to the point where he could start to think almost rationally.

 

First thing to do in a crisis? Look to the ring.

 

The ring is fucking dead.

 

This sent Ryan into another bout of panic-stricken hyperventilation. After a while he could calm down a little more, and tried to think of something else.

 

Second thing to do in a crisis? Call Brendon.

 

Ryan’s head whipped to the phone sitting on the desk. He stared at it blankly. Before he knew it, tears were streaming down his face, his breaths were loud and irregular, and he was getting up to go the desk. He could barely pick up the phone, he was shaking so violently, but with great effort he managed to find Brendon’s contact that he had meant to delete earlier that day, and called his number. It rang twice before Ryan received the message that his number had been blocked.

 

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to throw the phone at the wall and watch it shatter. He wanted to punch through a window. He wanted to die.

 

But in a moment of seemingly uncharacteristic luck, the rational side of his brain took over, if only for a second. He forced himself to go back to his contacts list and find Jon. The phone was ringing and he felt himself grow numb.

 

The ringing stopped and a familiar voice answered.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Ryan opened his mouth, but found that he could not say a word.

 

“Ryan?”

 

Ryan pressed his eyes shut.

 

“Jon…” His voice was barely a whisper.

 

“Yeah… Ryan? Are you okay?”

 

“Jon, I…” His voice hitched. “I think…” He felt a lump rise in his throat and he clasped a hand over his mouth.

 

“Ryan, what’s going on? Do you need me to come over?”

 

“Jon, Brendon…”

 

“What? Brendon what? Do you want me to come over?” Jon’s voice was laden with concern and fear.

 

“I think Brendon is -- Dead!” Ryan forced the words out, fresh tears bursting from his eyes as he began to sob again.

 

“Dead?” Jon sounded alarmed. “Wh-- Why do you think that?” Panic began to edge his tone.

 

“Because… My ring… God, Jon, Brendon is fucking dead! He’s dead and it’s my fault!” Ryan dropped the phone and he slid to the floor, crumpling down on his elbows, body quivering with every cry. He could hear the faint sounds of Jon’s voice on the other line, asking questions and saying things he couldn’t make out. After a while it stopped. Jon had hung up.

 

Ryan couldn’t cry any more. He was exhausted beyond belief. The ring wrapped around his finger remained still as he lay sprawled across the floor of the hotel room, staring blankly into space through half-open eyes. His breathing was slow and shallow. His eyes slowly drifted shut. He welcomed the silence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Piercing, persistent banging split through Ryan’s head. He jerked awake, eyes flying open. He was groggy and disoriented, trying to lift himself back onto his elbows and locate the source of the din. It took him a moment to realize that the banging was someone knocking forcefully on the hotel room door. It took him a moment more to recognize Jon’s panicked voice shouting over the noise.

 

“Ryan! Are you in there? Are you okay? Ryan, answer me! Please!”

 

Ryan opened his mouth and tried to call out to Jon, but he could not muster the strength. Instead he hauled himself onto his feet and stumbled towards the door, struggled to unlock it, then fell back against the wall with a dull thud, legs giving way beneath him as he sank towards the ground one again.

The door was thrown open, almost hitting Ryan, and Jon raced inside, looking about wildly before spotting Ryan by his feet. Jon looked relieved for a second, but then his eyes filled with terror as he took in the sight of his friend. Ryan realized he must appear awful, with dried blood still covering his finger and one side of his face. Add that to the fresh scars around his knuckles and his red, puffy eyes, and there was no wonder why Jon looked so scared.

 

Jon dropped to his knees and pulled Ryan close to him, who fell against him limply. Jon wrapped his arms tightly around his friend’s torso, shifting so their chests were pressed together and the sides of their heads were touching. Ryan welcomed the warmth emitting from him, and lifted his arms feebly around Jon’s waist. They sat there for what felt like days, Jon clutching his friend as close as he could, not saying a word, as the younger boy just leaned against him, taking solace in his company.

 

After a while, Jon pulled away, holding Ryan by his shoulders and looking into his disheveled face.

 

“Brendon isn’t dead,” He whispered softly, eyes brimming with sadness.

 

“What?” Ryan croaked, mouth gaping slightly. “He’s… He’s not?”

 

Jon just shook his head, holding his gentle gaze.

 

Ryan leaned back, indescribable relief flooding through him. He shook his head, pressing his hands to the sides of his face as he tried to sort out his thoughts. He laughed quietly, the corners of his mouth beginning to edge upwards.

 

“Brendon’s not dead,” He sighed, more cautious laughs escaping his mouth. He chuckled a few more times, then frowned, looking back to Jon. “But… My ring?” He stared at the older boy, eyes widening. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

Jon just pulled out his phone. “Brendon’s not dead. He sent Spencer a photo about an hour ago, who then sent it to me.”

 

“Oh,” Ryan said, confused.

 

“Here it is.”

 

Ryan tried to focus his weary eyes on the screen of Jon’s phone. He first recognized Brendon’s smiling face, and smiled back in relief. Then he saw someone sitting next to him, wearing a grin that spread across their face. It took him a long time to figure out who it was. It hit him suddenly, and he jerked back, mouth moving soundlessly as he struggled to contemplate the image before him.

 

“Is… Is that?” He stuttered, eyes flicking back and forth between the image and Jon’s solemn face. “That’s Sarah Orzechowski?”

 

Jon just gazed despondently back at his dazed expression.

 

“What… What are they doing?”

 

“Ryan, I think they’re…” The older boy turned his phone around to look at it. He showed it back to Ryan, pointing at the lower part of the screen. Ryan narrowed his eyes and peered at where Jon was gesturing, a sick feeling of dread overcoming him.

 

Brendon and Sarah were both holding up their left hands, fingers spread wide. Brendon was pointing at his ring.

 

“No.”

 

Ryan pulled back, head spinning. He put a hand on the wall behind him, squeezing his eyes shut. Jon said something that Ryan couldn’t comprehend. His vision was going black and his chest was pounding. He heaved himself up and staggered into the bathroom, keeling over the toilet and immediately vomiting up stomach acid. Dry sobs racked his body, as he cried with no tears left in him. He coughed up more acid into the toilet, then just sat there, head hanging over the bowl as he tried desperately to catch his breath. The foul taste in his mouth was suffocating, and the panic in his chest kept tightening.

Then he felt a hand against his arm, strangely warm. He turned and met Jon’s soft eyes. Ryan’s face contorted in agony and he leaned forward, pressing his face into his friend’s chest. Jon put his left hand on the back of Ryan’s neck and his chin on the top of his head, rubbing Ryan’s back with his other hand as the younger boy curled against him. There was no sound but the quiet hiccups and gasps of Ryan’s pain.

 

Ryan didn’t even notice the heat pulsating from Jon’s ring against his neck. He didn’t notice the unfamiliar heartbeat beating against his left finger.


End file.
